


Sun Never Sets, Grass Never Green

by dimice



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU, DCU (Comics), Super Sons (Comics)
Genre: Canon Divergence, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-31
Updated: 2017-04-07
Packaged: 2018-10-13 10:02:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10511517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dimice/pseuds/dimice
Summary: While they scaled the tower, Jon hadn’t noticed a greater presence. Hadn't noticed even when the city lights waned into a brilliant blue and red on LexCorp's reflective windows. Hadn't noticed, until Damian had kissed his teeth per his usual act of rebellion. They were plucked off the tower before Jon could even assess the situation.[Canon Divergent: What if it was Clark that found them instead?]





	1. Chapter 1

Superman curled Jon and Damian under his arms. Robin squirmed but otherwise didn’t hatch an escape, he muttered coherent insults under his breath. Insults that Superman’s ears _clearly_ made out. Jon on the other hand (literally) was limp, feet dangling in the air like wind chimes.

“Dad.”

Superman’s eyes only stayed vigil towards the moon.

“Dad, talk to me please, I’m sorry. I really am I, plea-”

“Father was going to be pleased,” Damian curtly interrupts, “but the mission just had to be _compromised.”_ Anger looked silly on Robin right now: he hung from the night sky with only Dad’s arm around his stomach separating him from freefall.

“D-dad…” He reached around himself to touch Superman’s hand, just to feel his warmth. To know he was still there within the silence.

The city lights were beautiful like this, Jon thought, blurred to incoherent fairy-lights in his tears.

Suddenly Damian’s kicking the air like a fish out of water. “What are you so upset about! You destroyed _my_ mission!”

He wanted to scream, pull himself across his father’s broad abdomen and punch Damian in his snarky mouth. Instead he thought of the horrible near-future when his father would finally look him in his eyes, only to tell him how disappointed he was in Jon. Mom would be upset too. He put a pretty smile for that lie, closing his laptop as if that was his only agenda. He lied to her, his kind mom, who let him sip her coffee when Dad was off to league business.

While they scaled the tower, Jon hadn’t noticed a greater presence. Hadn't noticed even when the city lights waned into a brilliant blue and red on LexCorp's reflective windows. Hadn't noticed until Damian had kissed his teeth per his usual act of rebellion. Superman hovered behind them. They were plucked off the tower before Jon could even assess the situation.

When they reached Gotham ground, Robin hastily shook off Superman and out of the darkness, Mr. Way-- no, Batman’s landing from the rooftop split the shadows in half. He straightened his bent knees, retracting his hands back under his ominous cape.

“Damian,” Batman said. His voice was grave, far more than usual. If Jon could see his eyes, he was sure Batman would put the fear of Devil in him. But Robin looked right into the man’s glare, where the eyelets were, and strode to his side.

As the duo turned to leave, Batman’s silhouette sinking into dim-lit alley, Superman’s voice boomed, “Teach your boy manners, _Batman_!” It was the first time he’d spoken since the night.

He whirls around, cape twisting in a sharp arch behind him,” _Teach your boy control!_ ”

Jon had felt light-headed from his silent moping, but now he stands attentive to the quickening THUMP of his pulse.

The air grows thicker.   

Batman stands his ground.

Sheer anger folded into the Man of Steel’s face, but he only gently lifts Jon over his shoulder before taking off to Metropolis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the read guys! Feel free to point out grammatical errors or ideas in the comments :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Saturdays were for sleeping in, Jon convinced himself."

Jon is startled awake by the wetness of his own drool. It was too hot under the sheets. One foot sticks out to the cool floor-boards as compensation. He finds himself hugging the edge of the mattress while reaching for the digital clock. It reads 9:43.

It would be a few more minutes before Dad would come knocking on his door. Saturdays were for sleeping in, Jon convinces himself.

He freezes, like he’d been shocked in an icy shower before the water turned warm: yesterday’s hazy events became a lucid memory. He finds himself tumbling to the ground, sheets and all, when his outstretched leg loses footing.

The latest memory from the night was the city lights behind his father's mountainous shoulders. His eyes had been swollen and raw, and if just being swollen didn’t close his eyes, then certainly it was the sleep.

And he was quite sure he’d sniveled into Dad’s cape. First he disappoints Superman, then he wipes his nose on his legendary uniform.

Great.

He considers the consequences of leaving his room. It could be apocalyptic, zombies gathering on the lawn and his home in rotten shambles. Certainly felt like the end of the world.

Well, the Teen Titans may think he was a child. _Damian_ may think he was a crybaby, but Jon could take on zombies with no problem.

When he reaches the kitchen, Mom is flipping pancakes and Dad focuses intently on slicing strawberries. “Seduced by the smell of syrup, aren’t we, Bed-head?”

He slows his knife, “Seduced? Really Lois?”

“It’s PG-13 language, _Smallville,”_ she purrs.

Clark sighs into Lois’s kiss, “He’s _eleven_.”

Mom just patts his shoulder, plopping a few cut berries on Jon’s breakfast. “You gonna tell me why you were hiding a robin in your room?” she made a ridiculous twittering noise after ‘robin’.

“I didn’t,” Jon doesn’t want to know if Dad was looking at him, “hide him,” he smooths the floorboards with his fuzzy socks,”he- he was hiding in the tree.” Were his socks always this tattered and stringy?

“Honey,” she places a stack of pancakes on the dining table, patting the seat next to her, ”we’re not mad that you sneaked off.”

Clark pauses his ministrations in the kitchen.  

“ _Okay, okay_ , so we're mad, but you sneaking out isn't the worst thing,” Mom says.

He focuses on shoving a toe through a hole in his sock while mumbling an apology.

“Im hearing your ‘sorrys’ Jon, but we've already forgiven you. Clark, come here and talk to your son, will you?”

The cutting board is placed in the sink with a light clatter. As Dad nears, Jon could make out the blue and red berry stains on his pink apron.

He continues to stare at his apron, keeping Dad's eyes a safe distance from his own.

Clark seats himself in the wooden chair across, “Jon. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to ignore you last night. Or yell in front of you. I should have never lost myself like that.--”

It sounds rehearsed, but sincere. Jon took in his expression. Dad looks more pained than angry: mouth twisted in a sad smile, forehead creased in worry.

“-- But sneaking out like that to _Lex Luthor's_ tower is… dangerous. You should never go out on missions Batman and I don't approve together.”

“But it’s just Luthor,” Lex Luthor, a public figure, the self-proclaimed Superman of Metropolis, “why would he hurt us?”

“ _Listen to me,_ Jon. Being involved with him isn't safe. On top of that, you two risked exposing both your identities if caught by him. Lay low, you could do without the public attention now, trust me,” he smiles wryly.

“I trust you Dad, always.”

“I know Son.”

A pregnant pause follows, and after a few awkward glances between the two, Lois claps her hands together, “Boys, the pancakes are getting cold.”

The pancakes did smell delicious, but Jon only toys the dripping syrup with his fork.

“Something still on your heart, Bed-head?”

“Will I still be training with Damian?” he blurts.

Noises of concern escape from Dad. He glances warily at Mom, before muttering, “He isn't… exactly the best role model-”

“He's thirteen Clark, like anyone is hardly a role model at that age,” her fork lightly scrapes the porcelain; she was the first to take a bite of breakfast, “unless we're talking about the first Boy Wonder.”

“What would you like to do?” Dad asks him.

“Can I continue my training with him?--” A stern look crosses his face and opens his mouth to speak. Jon beat him to it, struggling to form words quickly, “-- and Batman's right. I should know how to control myself.”

Lois split into a grin, it was her quirky grin, the kind that surfaces when she cracks a mystery for Hamilton Horn. “How bout we invite Damian over for Lunch tomorrow? It'll be fun,” she runs her fingers through Clark's hair like it could relax his wrinkled nose,” imagine a fancy Sunday brunch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Batman's parenting is up next chapter :]


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Damian who has killed, maimed, tortured and been tortured, couldn’t possibly be broken anymore."

Head against the headboard, sheets clutched in his palms; he'd just sat like that since the dark hours of morning. Sleep tried to succumb his mind, but behind closed eyes all he could see was Father's expression of molten rage. 

They had reached the batcave in silence. “ _ Teach your boy manners _ ,” he mocked while clipping off his cape, “he's biased to think his  _ alien  _ offspring is superior.”

_ THUNK.  _

Cape, cowl, and gauntlets clattered to the ground in succession. In an instant, Father had gripped Damian 's collar to a tight bundle, the spandex stretching under tension. “Don't  _ ever,”  _ he had snarled while pulling him nose to nose, “don't even  _ think  _ about doing that again.” 

Bruce's eyes were pulsating dangerously, “ _ Am I understood?”  _

Whatever cloth was fisted in Bruce's hand was torn away. Damian  hooked a leg behind his knee, knocking his father to the ground. He pressed his arm to Bruce's jugular, pushing him further into the stone floors, “I've trained with Ra’s Al Ghul! I don't need advice from a cowardly vigilante-” 

The resounding  _ pap  _ could be heard around the cave. Where Bruce had slapped him burned fiery, like a thousand ants crawling under his skin. 

“You…--” It wasn't too hard of a hit, yet somehow he could feel the event echoing in his mind in seismic ripples.

“--Hey, what's going on in here?” When had Grayson arrived?

Bruce said nothing, just stripped the rest of his armor before disappearing into the manor above. 

The cool floors made Damian ’s shins buzz hot in contrast, enough to melt into the ground. 

“Dami?” Grayson sat next to him where Bruce had laid minutes ago, “Hey talk to me.” He started rubbing circles into Damian 's back. 

“ _ Go away Grayson!”  _ he choked pathetically. The more time he wasted in Nightwing’s embrace, the weaker he became. 

Still in the robin suit, he sprinted to his room.  _ Fuck his rules,  _ Damian  thought as he remembered uniforms were not allowed upstairs. He could run away. He could leave this wretched cave; live on the streets if he wanted to. He’d been through worse. His nose pressed into the sheets, his shaky breath torturing him to sleep.  

He had awoken in the early hours of morning, eyes stinging to open and adjust to the darkness. And since then he is awake, staring into the blank walls painted yellow by the Sun.

Alfred’s voice from beyond the oak door breaks his heavy daze, “Young Master--,” His skin, eyes, hair; everything is  _ grimy;  _ especially with his tight uniform compressing dirt into his body’s crevices. “--It’s afternoon. shall I have a warm bath drawn, Master Damian?” 

He cleared his throat, the rawness growing further unpleasant, “See to it, Alfred.” 

More feet shuffle behind the door, followed by a softer voice, “It’d Dick. I’m coming in Damian.” 

He spat into his fingers and rubbed the stale liquid into his eyes out of sheer panic; it only made them sting more.  

Grayson pokes his head from behind the door, “I’ve brought you some toast, if you’d like.” 

The stench of butter mixed with burnt bread hangs in the air nauseatingly. “I don’t eat without brushing my teeth.” 

As usual, Grayson seems content on ignoring Damian ’s non-committal grunts. He doesn’t feel the dip in the memory foam, but he knows Grayson is sitting on the edge, “One slice won’t hurt-”

“ _ I don’t eat without brushing my teeth _ .”

They sit in silence for a few more minutes; Damian  looks anywhere but at Grayson’s warm face: darkened scorch marks on the bread indicated that it had not been Alfred’s handiwork. Edible, but not Alfred’s.   

Grayson breaks stalemate. Calloused hands smooth over Damian’s collar, his tired mind is leaning into the touch. Abruptly, he pulls back. 

Grayson is tracing the torn edges of his spandex.

“No uniforms upstairs, baby bird,” he says, smiling. It wasn’t a full-blown grin, just subtle curves at the edges of his lips. 

Damian points at his bedside-table, “Take your toast and leave, Grayson.” He doesn’t budge, just continues gazing at him with-- what Damian was sure of was --pity in his eyes.

“Dami,” his fingers are on his cheek where Father had hit him, “you know Bruce loves you.” 

Damian, heir of two empires, did not cry. Damian  who has killed, maimed, tortured and  _ been tortured _ , couldn’t possibly be broken anymore. 

No one can see him crying, no one can hear him crying,  _ no one has to know;  _ because his mouth, nose, and eyes are buried into Grayson’s abdomen. But if anyone wanted definitive proof of his weakness, all they had to do was take one look at Grayson’s drenched T-shirt. 

“ _ No _ ,” he whines, between sobs, to himself. His heart betrayed his mind as he continues using the man as a tissue. Grayson just encourages his childishness by rubbing circles into his back, like he had hours ago. He’s whispering  _ shhh  _ into Damian ’s hair and it makes him wail louder. Damian  tries to explain himself, his voice comes out like broken glass: sharp, high-pitched, shattering. Father was “ _ gonnabeproud.”  _

After what felt like hours, his eyes are wrung dry. He breathes in short grunts, hitching to a pattern like hiccups. Legs still under the sheets, his torso is twisted at an odd angle. It puts kinks in his back. 

But Grayson won’t let him go. 

_ He  _ won’t let Grayson go. 

“I’m not saying Bruce should have hit you Damian ,” he says, still warming Damian ’s back, “but you should have seen him when he realized you were gone.” 

“Babs tried locating you, but you’d removed all your trackers.”

Damian  tells him that is wasn’t the first time he’s run off. 

“Yes, I know. It’s different this time,” he’s twirling his fingers around Damian ’s unruly hair now, “Luther is planning something dangerous, Bruce  _ and  _ Clark have been on edge all week.”

Damian  receives a kiss on his forehead, ”But I’m not saying Bruce is a saint. He’s got major anger issues; actually the both of you do.” Grayson’s back to smiling. This time grinning wide and eyes crinkled. 

Perhaps it wasn’t pity in his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first two chapters still feel rough to me, but I didn't want to keep holding them back till I "perfected" them. I do that a lot and end up not posting a lot of stories :^[ 
> 
> Welp enjoy guys, we're gonna see both Jon and Dami next chapter!


End file.
